Horcrux: The True Soul Within
by Wolfwhispers
Summary: Harry Potter truly died that night, and in its place was a living horcux. This startling realization changes Harry in ways no one ever thought possible - He is Lord Voldemort, he is Tom Riddle, the other must be overthrown.
1. Chapter 1

Alright, so here's my idea of Harry actually having 'died' but not really. The Killing Curse did hit, and as he's technically a Horcrux, something must have really screwed around with his soul.

_Summary: _In an effort to further torture Harry after his Godfather's death, Voldemort let's Harry in on a little secret. He is his Horcrux, a mere item and possession, but as Harry muses on the thought, things don't exactly turn out the way Voldemort expected.

Warnings: Gore, Rape, Slash… stuff. So you don't like, no read. Here are the warnings, so don't flame cause you don't like.

(x0x)

It was a particularly gloomy summer night that young Harry Potter, just shy of sixteen, curled in a sweaty and heaving ball on his bed in the smallest bedroom of Number Four Private Drive. The thin blanket that barely provided any sort of warmth or comfort covered the ailed boy as he slept fitfully. Forehead matted with sweat that kept the normally untidy hair planted firmly in place was a significant clue that Harry was having a nightmare. Not just any nightmare, of course. What with the sudden death of his only Godfather, Sirius Black, and then the possession and the increase in mysterious and powerful bond with a Dark Lord, how could Voldemort not mess with the young savior's mind?

Flashes and images moved in and out of Harry's mind like the flicker of candlelight. It was fast, but just slow enough for Harry to see all perfectly. There he was, in that nightmarish room that housed the veil, the very thing that took away Sirius. Harry could see the flash of red light from the Stunning spell that hit Sirius, followed by his agonizingly slow fall into the veil. He moved in slow motion, and Harry could not for the life of him understand why he could not have moved in time to save him if Sirius really had fallen so slowly.

_All your fault, _a silky voice hissed softly in the back of his mind.

Harry cringed as he rolled around on his bed, covers entangling his body like rope that soon hindered his constant unconscious movements. Whimpering as his nightmares took a different turn, Harry no longer saw his Godfather falling through the ethereal veil, but instead he saw himself standing over the dead and mutilated bodies of his friends. He was covered in their blood, a wide and very deranged smile upon his face as he chuckled darkly. Red eyes had replaced his emerald green, making him almost look like a carbon copy of a much younger version of Tom Riddle, especially since he was without his glasses.

Harry moaned once more in his sleep, body nearly teetering off the edge of his bed, but a snag on the weak blanket had caught on a wire at the edge of his mattress and kept him from falling for the moment.

_See what you've done, my pet? _the voice continued hypnotically.

The body, or at least the remains, of Ron Weasley was literally in more places than one. His entire torso and head lay at Harry's feet, but his arms and legs were scattered about the room, and with each stub he bled slowly so he would not die slowly. His naked body was covered in purple and yellow cuts that were clearly infected from a painful curse. And, to make matters worse, little worms with tiny, but rather vicious and sharp looking, teeth ate at his skin and slithered into his cuts. Ron's dull eyes stared up at with a silent plea of help. Tears trekked down his cheeks in betrayal.

Hermione Granger was next, and she looked even worse than Ron. She too lay naked. Legs were spread wide and twisted in an uncomfortable way that allowed decent entry into her very visible privates. Aside from blood covering her body from many deep gashes, semen covered her body as well, and from the hateful and betrayed look, Harry knew that this monster version of him had done the unthinkable. He tried not to look anymore, but it was as if he had no sense of will in this nightmare. As his eyes betrayed him, his sight traveled the rest of the way of Hermione's body. Her breast's had been cut off, leaving oozing holes of blood while one of the missing appendages lay by her side while the other had been stuffed into her mouth. Jaw obviously broken, Hermione could only weep silently.

_Such an imagination, childe, _the voice said, clearly pleased.

"N… no…" Harry whimpered, finally covering his eyes with his hands in a desperate attempt to escape the scene, only to gasp as a spidery fingered hand grasped at his hair, eliciting a cry of pain from both his scalp and scar. Crying out, Harry's hands clawed at the one in his hair in an effort to be free, but a rough jerk had his head twisting painfully around to stare into the demonic eyes of Lord Voldemort.

"Can you see it, Harry?" Voldemort asked calmly, easily holding the squirming boy in place. "Can you see their betrayal and understand it to be true?"

Harry snarled with a renewed vigor as soon as he set eyes on the Dark Lord. "This betrayal is nothing but a dream!" Harry screamed, nearly wrenching a chunk full of hair off as he escaped Voldemort's grasp. "It's all a lie, and I would never do such a thing!"

Red eyes became half lidded in an almost lazy manner as Voldemort sized Harry up. Lifting his hand, and allowing a pleased smirk to grace his face, he made a 'come here' gesture with his finger. Harry went rigid, eyes wide as his body walked over to Voldemort without his approval.

"Sit, my pet," the Dark Lord said delicately, pointing to the ground at his feet. Harry fell to his bottom with an enraged growl, body trembling as he fought with every fiber of his being to deny the orders of his hated enemy. Emerald eyes darkened with hatred as they glared up at the Dark Lord. "Just a simple order to sit, Harry, and even though you fight me every step of the way, you still obey my command." Voldemort's thin smile widened a bit, stretching the skin on his face into a hideous look that made Harry grimace. "Do you know why that is?"

"Because I'm in your mind," Harry spat, teeth bared like a wild animal as the skeletal hand carded into his hair and began to pet him in soothing circles that only brought pain to his scar. Harry groaned in agony as the tip of Voldemort's finger brushed just above his scar. "And bec… because of the possession," Harry whispered weakly, shaking before allowing a sigh to escape as the finger moved away.

"Not entirely, pet."

"My name is Harry!" Harry spat, twisting his head away from the hand that brought so much pain. He made to snap at them with his teeth in hopes of at least causing some damage with his immobile body but an angry hiss and harsh slap to the face stopped any pathetic attack Harry had hoped to make. Cheek stinging from the slap, Harry could barely keep the wince back as Voldemort roughly grabbed his jaw and forced him to look up.

"My poor, poor, pet," Voldemort mocked, sharp nails creating welts on Harry's cheeks as he squeezed Harry's face. "I have allowed this farce to go on for far too long, a farce that I admit I did not know of until recently," Voldemort said with a slight hiss of discontent to his voice. It was obvious the man was not happy when something of grave importance was not made known to him. "Tell me, pet, what do you know of Horcrux's?" Voldemort asked, watching Harry intently.

Harry's face, which had been full of rage and hatred, faltered into a look of confusion. For a moment, a glimmer of remembrance sparked in his eye before blinking out so quickly that anyone who had seen would be sure that they had simply imagined the sight. Harry bit at his lip as he moved his head back, only feeling slightly better as the long fingered hand slipped away from him and with it the pain from his scar. He glanced up at Voldemort and was surprised by how intense the older man was looking at him. He was being judged in a way that was completely foreign to him, and it made him wary.

"I don't know," Harry said, body tensing for a moment as Voldemort raised his hand once more, but instead of caressing him, Voldemort placed his hand under his chin as he stared down at Harry with a contemplative look.

"You may or may not be aware that I spent many years traveling the world," Voldemort said softly after a moment of silence. "Gaining power, followers and, most important of all, information on immortality."

"Dumbledore said there's no true path to becoming immortal," Harry put in, only to yelp as a fast spell hit his body and created numerous cuts. None were deep, nor were they horribly painful, but there were many and they stung. It was more of warning than an actual attack.

"Do not interrupt me," Voldemort breathed dangerously, wand out and aura pulsing much like in the graveyard. It was powerful and suffocating, and easily made Harry wilt under such stress. "Dumbledore is a fool," Voldemort hissed, traces of anger still noticeable. "There are such magic's in this world that senile fool has no clue of, and even if he should have his suspicions, his blindness clouds his mind. Horcrux's, my dear _Harry_, is such a magic that has led me on the course to immortality." Harry scowled at the use of his name. It sounded like such an insult, as if he didn't even deserve a name. "As you have no knowledge about Horcrux's, shall I sate your curious mind with information? It would be impudent to ignore what I am about to say, pet, especially in view of the fact that it has much to do with you."

Harry frowned at the horrible name Voldemort had deemed him with but still managed a wary nod. He was curious to know what a Horcrux was, especially if it could truly allow the mad man a way to immortality.

"A Horcrux is an item that holds a piece of a soul from a wizard of power." Harry started at that. A piece of a soul? "Ah, I see I have obtained that insatiable curiosity," Voldemort said, pleased. "I remember I was much like that at your age, my pet." Thin finger's once again found their way to Harry's face and began to caress him, uncaring of the blood drops from the welts given earlier. "Such a fiery curiosity. I recall many times wishing for more, wanting knowledge even the darkest of places, but at school all I had was the Forbidden Section of the Library, a place I'm sure you have ventured into as well."

"What's your point?" Harry asked rudely, glaring at the light smack he received for his tone. Honestly, what did the man expect from him? Harry absolutely loathed him.

"Our similarities are no coincidence," Voldemort said, eyes glowing brightly with power that seemed far too smug for Harry's liking. "I'm sure my younger self in the diary you destroyed said just as much. Both with the same grudge carried on by our childhood, both can speak the noble tongue of Slytherin and, of course, we look very much alike."

"Dumbledore said there would be some side effects when you cast the killing curse," Harry spat quickly, not liking where this was going. Honestly, what with the topic of Horcrux's and similarities, you'd think snake face thought that… "You can't honestly think that I have a piece of your soul stuck to mine!" Harry yelped, drawing back in shock.

"No, pet." Red eyes narrowed mockingly. "Your body carries _only _my soul. Harry Potter is dead. I killed him the moment the Killing Curse hit his little body and you, my pet, are the accidental remains of what happened when Lily Potter's curse activated."

There was a moment of complete and utter silence before Harry burst out laughing. "You've finally lost it, haven't you!" Harry exclaimed loudly, both sadistically gleeful at Voldemort's apparent lapse of judgment and warily. "You really think I'm you?" The thought was more than enough to send Harry into another fit of hysterical giggles.

"Foolish item," Voldemort hissed, shutting Harry up immediately at the sound of such a derogatory name and term for a human. "You are a piece of _my _soul. You truly believe a baby could survive such an onslaught of magic? Harry Potter died, but a baby is the closest thing, aside from a Thestral, with contact to the spiritual world of the dead. A Horcrux is created when a powerful being kills," Voldemort whispered, hand drawing away at last as he gazed at Harry with a look of disgust, almost as if he weren't good enough to be looked at. "What a wondrous Horcrux it would have been," Voldemort continued, eyes glazing with hatred as he thought of the night of downfall. "The supposed savior of prophecy would have died by my hands to help me create the perfect Horcrux to ensure my survival, but instead I'm left with you." Voldemort sneered. "A defect. So you see, my pet, I will call you what I will, for you are nothing but an object, _my _object, and everything about you has been a lie."

Harry shook. He had never been one to believe a word Voldemort said, even if the visions Voldemort sent to him and seductive whispers in his head occasionally made him falter, but now, for some reason, a piece of his mind was accepting these accusations. A small piece, but it was still his mind, mind you, and that was a dangerous thing to start believing in.

"No," Harry whispered, looking down. He narrowed his eyes in hopes of trying to find some sort of hope, but with only Voldemort in front of him and he at the Dark Lord's feet, it was a dark moment. "I'm no item," Harry hissed, despite the coldness creeping in on him. "I'm Harry, Harry Pot—"

"Pet," Voldemort interrupted coldly. "Pet, Item, Toy, Possession, Thing, _Horcrux_," Voldemort hissed out quickly, naming all sorts of names to fit with the thing he truly thought Harry was.

The question was, did Harry did believe it?

"You're lying," Harry spat.

"Ever the stubborn one," Voldemort said fondly. "Just like me as I stood against all those I hated. I had that same dark look in your eye…" Skeletal fingers snatched Harry's glasses, bringing the boy to blindness. "A default, as it is Potter's body and not my own," Voldemort mused, watching Harry blink blearily. "Think on this, my dear Horcrux, and even if you attempt to speak with Dumbledore about this… I wonder, will he even be willing to speak with you?"

Harry looked insulted. Of course the Headmaster would!

"Have you already forgotten last year's events?" Voldemort asked smugly, drinking up the look of rejection and horror on Harry's face. He flicked Harry's forehead that sent him falling back from the force of magic. "Goodnight, my pet."

And with that last word, Harry's dream world dissolved and Harry woke up with a startled gasp. Suddenly aware of what position he was in, Harry let out a startled shriek as he fell off the bed, snag from his blanket finally ripping. Struggling with the blanket, Harry barely made it to the bathroom before he lost the contents of his stomach. Leaning against the toilet and panting, Harry just allowed his body to relax for a moment.

"Tha… that _liar,_" Harry snarled as he glared at himself in the mirror through bleary eyes. What he had heard and what had been done to him was fueling his anger, and the longer he glared at the mirror, the harder it became to restrain it.

But, finally, Harry left the bathroom to obtain his glasses. He couldn't stand not being able to see, and from the dull ache covering his body, and the feel of blood, he knew that whatever had transpired in the dream had carried onto his real body. Hand fumbling on his drawer, and stubbing his toe a few times, Harry exasperatedly put on his glasses but instantly felt better as his vision cleared. Rubbing his eyes to get rid of the sleepies, Harry winced as he brushed his abused cheeks just a bit too hard. Glaring half heartedly at the blood on his hands, Harry exited his room and back towards the shower.

Along the way, however, he ran right into Dudley. The obese boy had gotten over the nightmares and shakes from the Dementors quite a few months ago, and the suspicious glint that had shadowed his eyes had disappeared, but as soon as he came into contact with Harry, that dark glint crawled back into his eyes like a creeping snake. His piggy eyes widened in suspicion as he let out a terrified squeak. Scrambling back, much to Harry's amusement and shock, Dudley flat out ran down the stairs.

"Like Emily Rose," Dudley whimpered just barely loud enough for Harry to hear before he was gone.

Shocked, and not entirely sure of what to make of the situation, Harry just stared at the empty space for a moment before, with a long suffering sigh, entered the bathroom and locked the door. Turning back to the mirror with clear eyes, Harry could understand why Dudley was startled by his sight. His face was covered in small cuts, and the lightning bolt scar on his head was red and bleeding, looking as if it had just been created rather than being on his head for nearly fifteen years.

Not seeing anything that could really help him with the moment, Harry instead took off his clothes and hopped into the shower. He was intent on just relaxing for the moment. He needed a clear mind to think over what had been said, and with the hot water pouring onto his scratched up body and the steam settling around his body, it came rather quickly. Sitting on the smooth floor with the shower head above, Harry began to gently wash the cuts on his body, and to his irritation, the cuts were absolutely everywhere. He probably looked like a doll that had been taken apart and then stitched back together rather messily.

To his surprise, as the time passed, no pounding at the door came or thunderous demands interrupted his time. Still, not one to push his luck, Harry turned the showerhead off and exited the shower. Patting himself down until he was completely dry, and with one last glance at himself in the mirror, Harry exited the bathroom. Glancing around, Harry frowned. His relatives weren't around, but he could hear them downstairs eating breakfast. It was disconcerting not being woken up by a shrill voice to make breakfast or by loud bangs on the door to get out of the shower. And what had Dudley meant earlier by calling him Emily something? Nose wrinkling when he could think of nothing, Harry quickly entered his room and dressed in his oversized pants and long sleeved shirt. There was no need to show off all the cuts on his body, even if they looked better now that they had been washed off.

"Hedwig, are you up to a quick journey?" Harry asked his snowy owl as he settled onto his bed. A rolled up parchment was held loosely in his hand with a quick letter to the Headmaster. It held no information, but was a simple request to talk as it was important.

Hedwig, as soon as she heard her name, stopped grooming herself and turned to look at Harry with a small hoot. Eyes immediately landing on the wrapped parchment, she held out her leg obediently.

"Thanks, girl," Harry murmured as he pet the snowy owl. With a comforting coo, Hedwig lifted her majestic wings and flew out the window with a single beat of her beautiful wings.

Smiling thinly as he watched her disappear, Harry felt it was time to face the music and finally go down stairs. Even though he had been affected by Voldemort's words, he was still hungry, and his stomach made sure to voice its disapproval at being denied food.

"Yea, yea," Harry muttered as he patted his stomach and glided down the stairs on silent feet. To his annoyance, he realized that tiny scratches were also on his feet in places he hadn't seen in the bathroom. "Bugger," Harry sighed as he opened the door to the kitchen.

It was immediate. There was no doubt in Harry's mind as he walked into the kitchen that something was wrong. All noise had come to an abrupt stop, and his relatives weren't even looking at him. In fact, they even made sure they moved their heads or bodies away from him as he walked toward the fridge.

"Er, morning," Harry said uncertainly, only to blink as Dudley flinched, Aunt Petunia made a muffled gasp and Uncle Vernon purpled.

"There are chores on the table!" Vernon barked out without even looking at anyone. His sentence didn't even make sense, but before Harry could get anything out, his purple uncle hastily grabbed his briefcase and stalked out of the house.

There was a tense silence.

"Right then," Harry said quietly, unable to stay in this tense room. Grabbing a few strips of bacon and the list of chores on his table, he left the kitchen, but not without seeing his aunt and cousin tense when he moved. As soon as the door shut behind him, the two began to whisper. Harry, needing to know what was going on, leaned in close to the door.

"…what if it's true?" a voice hissed. "He could kill us all!" The high voice was more than enough for Harry to know that was his aunt speaking.

"Possessed…" the other voice whispered in horror. "Knew he was a freak." Obviously Dudley there.

Harry's heart froze as soon as he heard those words. How did they know? Did Dumbledore tell them? And if he did, why! Bacon and chore list dropping to the floor, Harry all but ran out the door and towards a certain bush where he knew his watcher's watched.

In the house, both Petunia and Dudley Dursley jumped as they heard the bang of a door slamming. Both looking outside, they could only blink stupidly as the freak of the family began talking to a bush. They had always known the boy different, but being insane was not something they could deal with. They loathed the old professor that had dumped this boy with them, and they could only hope that if they said nothing or didn't even look at him, they would be left alone by the demon child. After all, what were you if you were possessed?

"Hey!" Harry all but snarled at the bush. "I need to talk, its important."

The bush rustled but no one removed themselves.

"Hey!" Harry hissed again, hand reaching out to grab the invisibility cloak. The bush moved again, and he could feel the cloth as the person moved away. "What is wrong with you?" Harry asked, hurt that his own watchers wouldn't even talk to him. "I really need to talk to someone."

"Wotcher, Harry," a voice whispered sullenly. The tone was sad and depressed, as well as wary, but Harry knew it was Tonks. "Sorry, kiddo, but no talking. Technically, I'm not allowed to be here without orders from the Ministry. Being a part of Dumbledore's Order makes what we do a bit illegal…" Tonks trailed off, clearly realizing she had begun rambling but stopped as soon as she could.

"But wai…" Harry trailed off as well, and before he knew it, he was already walking back into the house. As soon as the door shut behind him, Harry blinked in shock and ran a distressed hand over his face. A Compulsion Charm had been put on him to get him away all because he had wanted to talk and she wasn't allowed to.

Moving up to his room, Harry allowed a distressed cry to be heard before curling up into a ball on his bed.

"_What did I tell you, my sweet Horcrux?"_

Harry flinched at the sound of Voldemort's voice. Ghostly hands wrapped around his throat and pulled him against an invisible force. Harry's breath hitched as he realized that he was being held by a phantom Dark Lord on his bed. Making to break free, two invisible arms wrapped around him tightly and pulled him close and a hand covered his mouth as tears began to leak out of his eyes.

"_No help will come, pet. All you will have is me. But really, is that so bad? We are the same person, are we not?"_

Harry couldn't make sound, nor could he move other than the rough jerk of a quick struggle before being held down. He knew that Voldemort really wasn't in his room and was instead sending out magic thanks to his scar, but it was still frightening, and Harry knew he was all alone to deal with this.

But as the other phantom hand began to pet his chest and stomach, Harry screamed within his mind for help.

(x0x)

Later that day, when at last the invisible phantom of Voldemort's magic disappeared, Harry left his room in a hurry. He didn't even care to put on socks or shoes; he just bolted out of the room as if it were covered in roaches. Harry ignored the flinches of his aunt and cousin as he passed them and ran out the door to who knows where. Harry didn't bother to wonder why Voldemort's magic had finally left him alone but figured snake face was probably busy taking over the world with another attack.

As Harry fled the house, he knew his watcher was following. With the sense of eyes on his back and the "Bloody hell!" from Tonks as she stubbed her toe, it wasn't that hard.

Harry fled to the one place he knew would be abandoned, even though it was summer. Dudley's little gang of miscreants had damaged the park beyond recognition. Grass had been ripped and burned, the chains of the swings lay on the ground and the slide had been spray painted. It was pitiful, and it was a wonder why the town had yet to fix it. Still, it managed to serve its purpose and provided a place of solitude, even if Tonks was trailing him.

Harry settled on the base of the slide and hunched forward, hands on his head and knees in his face. "Tonks," he whispered pleadingly. "Please, I just need someone to talk to."

The only answer he received was the rustling of a robe.

Harry glared into his hands, anger beginning to bubble. "Fine," he bit out, "then I'll just talk." He lowered his hands and threw an acid look at the spot he knew Tonks stood. "Voldemort gave me another visit," he said nastily, unable to hide the sadistic joy when he heard a frightened gasp. "Yes, gave me a nice vision as well, the bastard. I was standing over the decimated bodies of my friends, enjoying their pain. Can you imagine it, Tonks, being the one to mutilate and betray your friends?"

There was no answer.

"Oh, I'm sure people have had dreams like these before, but have they ever been sent to you by a Dark Lord bent on killing you?" Harry asked bitingly. He smiled grimly. "And I couldn't do anything but obey him in my dream, Tonks. I was his puppet, his… thing to control, and he constantly threatens that he can control me in the real world." He glared hard at the spot. "Yes, he tricked me into going to the Department of Mysteries and because of that Sirius died."

"Stop it," came a soft whisper that could have easily been missed, but Harry had been listening carefully.

"Why?" he asked bluntly. "Voldemort is supposed to be one of the most powerful wizards alive, so what's to stop him from controlling me and killing someone? He teases me with that," Harry told the invisible spot angrily. "Can you not see why I need to talk?"

"Be quiet, Harry," Tonks said harshly.

Harry pursed his lips. "What's to stop him from controlling me and even killing yo—"

"_Silencio_."

Harry's face darkened to a look of absolute loathing. His mouth moved but no sound came out. Clicking his mouth shut, he stood up fluidly. With one last glare, Harry left the park, no longer caring about the presence behind him.

(x0x)

Living with the shame of family is never an easy thing, especially if you are a Black. Generations upon generations of Blacks have had far too many mess-ups that have darkened the family name with shame. Nymphadora Tonks, niece of Bellatrix Lestrange and cousin of Sirius Black, has had it hard.

When she was young, people would do all they could to make her angry. Testing to see if she would snap like her dear aunt. When Tonks learned to stand up for herself as a child, it wasn't so bad, but when she became a near adult, Sirius had been arrested, which only further darkened her family name. She was distrusted, but that wasn't what hurt. What hurt was that the one person in her pathetic family that stood up and loved her had been taken away for betrayal.

It was heart wrenching. She was overcome with grief, but then year's later hope was given when she learned that her cousin was innocent. It had been a blessing to be able to speak to her favorite cousin and get to know him again. Tonks and Sirius had grown very close, but when he had been taken away again, this time for good, grief once again overcame her. Now, at this moment, she was mourning her dead cousin and, even though it was completely unfair and she knew it, she blamed Harry.

Part of Dumbledore's orders was to not make it obvious that she was guarding him, but if he made to talk then she could speak back if the situation was safe. However, she just couldn't speak to him. Again, it was horribly unfair and even childish of her, but when he began to tell her that the Dark Lord had talked to again, it sent dark shivers down her spine. It sounded like the boy was listening to whatever it was bloody wanker was telling him, but didn't Harry know how dangerous it was? Just look at what happened last time!

Tonks wished and prayed to not be here, even as her heart cracked at Harry's heart broken and lost look, but when he threatened her, she could not allow that to slide. The boy who had gotten her family killed would not speak like that to her.

It was hard to remember that Harry really was a child, but there was just something about him that screamed leader and adult. When Harry acted weak, one could not help but feel the same, and it was frightening. Tonks couldn't deal with that, not now, maybe not even once she had time to heal, and it had pushed her over the edge. She had done something unforgivable.

She had forcibly silenced a child who was reaching out for hope… and it hurt, but she would still do nothing.

It was several hours later that the charm had worn off, but Harry's anger had yet to burn away. He stalked through the neighborhood the whole day with an uncaring attitude. Even as the neighbors edged away from him and his feet began to grow sore, he still trudged on until it was dark. He didn't dare go back to the Dursley's. He couldn't stand to look at them, nor could he go into his pathetic room where he withstood the torture without help.

However, while Harry planned on not even returning to the house that night, his watcher had other plans. For the first time since she silenced him those many hours ago, she spoke, telling him in a wary tone that he needed to go back to the house.

"Bugger off," Harry snarled, easily giving Tonks the look of loathing he usually reserved for Snape or Voldemort. He would never forgive her.

"You need to go back to the house for your own safety," the voice of Tonks persisted.

Harry ignored her. That was another thing he was angry about. Despite what she had already done, she didn't even have the decency to reveal herself to him. It was almost as if she were too afraid. Well, if she was, served her right, but why she was afraid he would never know.

There was an audible sigh and then a rustle of robes. "Damn," Tonks sighed tiredly, sounding as if she couldn't deal with this.

"You bitch!" Harry roared, lunging at the spot he knew Tonks was standing. No way would he give her a chance to cast another spell on him. Arms out and grabbing frantically at the fabric of the invisibility cloak and body weight crashing into the smaller form of Tonks, the two went sprawling on the ground, but Harry was at least on top. Ripping the cloak off to reveal Tonks' face, Harry grabbed her throat, too overcome with anger. In the back of his mind, as he glared down at Tonks' pasty face that had dark circles around her eyes and a haunted look, he could feel Voldemort taking a peek, even edging him on. "What is wrong with everyone?" Harry spat brokenly, trying hard not to blink as he felt tears swell up in his eyes.

God, all he wanted was to talk, to get away from those who loathed him, but when someone was going to actually force him, he was not going to take that.

"_Choke her, my pet. Kill the filthy mudblood that dared touch my possession," _the dangerous silky voice whispered.

Harry choked on a sob, tears finally falling and landing on the female aurors face. His hands shook as his grip tightened unconsciously. The young woman beneath him grasped at his fingers, wand forgotten by her side and blue eyes wide with fear, shock and even a little guilt. Her spiky hair changed colors so quickly it was just a blur, but Harry wasn't aware of any of this. His eyes were closed, breath caught in his throat, and he was _afraid._

"_Stupefy_," came a sharp voice.

A bolt of red light blasted Harry off Tonks and onto the side walk in an awkward sprawl. Even in unconsciousness, Harry displayed erratic breathing that signified heightened fear. Tonks, who was still inhaling large mouthfuls of air, jerked up with wide eyes.

"Well, well," said a dangerously silky voice. Severus Snape stalked over to the fallen auror, wand pointed at Harry's unconscious form with an ugly smirk. His black eyes darted between the two forms for a moment before landing on Tonks. "Having a little problem with handling a teenager, Nymphadora?" he purred.

"Shut it!" Tonks hissed as she massaged her throat. "Don't call me that."

Snape's eyes narrowed in agitation. His lips thinned out, creating a very nasty smile as he studied the frazzled metamorphagus. Ah, now he could see it now. Instead of snapping at him for mocking her for being unable to handle a child, she snapped at him for calling her by her first name because she was in mourning. It was a defensive move that was often used by those who were depressed when they made a mistake, but Nymphadora was an adult, and she had been given an important job to guard the spoiled golden boy. Severus did wonder what caused the child to snap. His eyes moved back to Harry, taking in his form.

"How did the boy receive so many cuts?" he demanded with an annoyed hiss.

It was frustrating to see the woman dart her eyes over to the boy in surprise. Tonks bit her lip before looking away quickly, almost as if she couldn't bear to even look at him.

"Now isn't this a treat," Snape said mockingly. "For too long has the golden brat gone on without a good scolding for his actions, but I am surprised," he said, eyes glittering sadistically, "that a grown woman is actually foolish enough to sink to a child's level and blame the boy for her cousin's death."

Tonks opened her mouth, face already scrunched up to let out an angry retort, but Snape interrupted her.

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "You may know deep down that it is not truly the boys fault, but you still can't help but loath him for allowing Black into a situation that took him away from you not once, but twice." Snape glided toward Tonks and hoisted her up from the ground in a painful grip. "Listen closely, girl," he sneered. "Whether or not Potter is the one at fault for Black's death or attacking you, you as the adult are responsible for handling the situation with care. I saw you look at the boy in astonishment when I mentioned the cuts."

Tonks groaned as Snape dug his yellow nails into her skin hard enough to bring small droplets of blood.

"Couldn't handle the mere sight of him, could you?" Tonks glared up at Snape's sneering face. "Couldn't handle the sight of a murderer."

"You are such a bastard," Tonks spat. "If anyone's the murderer, it's you!" Snape tightened his grip, dark smile lengthening as he heard her cry out.

"Very mature, Nymphadora. Resorting to name calling like an outraged child. I'm sure Black would be proud." Tonks glared acidly. Her sunken eyes held hate and despair, and it was disgusting to look at. This woman knew nothing of true despair, nor did her hate hold any truth. He threw her back onto the ground. "Get out of my sight."

Opening her mouth to argue, but soon realizing that this was what she had wanted all day, Tonks apparated away in an instant, but not before she looked away with a look of despair.

As soon as the woman was gone, Snape turned back to the unconscious form of Harry and strode over to grab him by the scruff of the neck and lift him up to see his face better. It was covered in cuts, though none were deep or too noticeable, but it still should have been obvious to the young auror that something was wrong.

"Idiot boy," Snape said irritably. Snape had always prided himself on having quick reflexes and a good sense for when danger is there, so he knew he would scold himself later when the term jumping out one's skin applied for him at this exact moment. Potter, whom had been completely stiff and unmoving, jumped to life; his eyes glowing red and a smirk worthy of the dark lord gracing his face as he gripped Snape in a tight hold on his arm.

"Take care of my property," came the hissed response from the boys' mouth before Potter once again became slack.

Snape remained frozen; some part of his subconscious mind thankful for the anti-muggle charms, and just stared at the young man. Remembering he had to breathe, Snape allowed a tense moment to allow himself to relax and go over what just happened. The boy had just been possessed (again) by the dark lord and had technically given him a command. Snape felt his teeth clench as he felt the brand on his arm slither about like poison on his skin. Despite the fact that it had been Potter's body, it was still the dark lord's voice and intent, and as his slave, Snape had no choice but to obey.

With a flick of his wand (which was more snappish than usual), Snape had the boy levitating beside him, arms and legs dangling like a rag doll as he floated alongside Snape and into the Dursley home. Upon entering, the large lump of a cousin fled and the sorry excuse of an aunt sucked in her breath as he stalked by her, her body trembling and knees buckling.

Eyes darting toward a rackety looking door (and was that a cat flap?) with a sharp glare, the door burst open all on its own. The white owl that was inside the room hooted indignantly upon his entrance, her large wings fluttering in agitation before fixing Snape with a piercing look. Snape barely paid the owl any mind. Instead, he gently placed Potter on the bed on his back so he could look over the boy more thoroughly. His lip curled with disdain, loathing each moment he had to spend with the wretch, but he wasn't a fool, and he wouldn't leave this child without giving and receiving some answers.

Snape raised his wand over Potter's body, stopping short as red eyes snapped open. He paused, more out of fear than shock, and carefully lowered his wand. "Good boy," his Master crooned, those evil eyes staring intently into Snape's black abyss eyes. With a smirk, Potter's body once again slackened and went back to its unconscious state, leaving Snape to glare at the un-possessed boy.

With snarl, Snape conjured a reasonably comfortable chair to sit on until the boy woke up, for at the moment, there was nothing for him to do. The warning had been clear; he was not to heal the boy. Whatever it was that Potter did or said, he would have to deal with the punishment given by the dark lord.

It was barely an hour later that Harry awoke with a painful groan. He stretched carefully, body sore before his eye lids opened slowly. He paused as he took in a sour potions master before sighing. "Professor," he greeted dully, sitting up and getting into a crisscross position. He yawned widely and cracked his neck, looking far too ruffled.

Snape waited impatiently as Harry rubbed his dark circled eyes. "You don't seem too surprised to see me, Potter," he said carefully.

Harry smiled thinly. "Just because I'm not in control doesn't mean I don't see what happens."

"Why has the Headmaster not been informed of this?" Snape demanded. If the boy was being possessed anytime the dark lord wanted then the Headmaster needed to know. Not just the boy, but his relatives and the Order guard were all in danger.

"He knows," Harry said, gazing at Snape in surprise. He blinked sleep deprived eyes and yawned again. "He told the Dursley's too." Harry looked away for a moment. "You wouldn't happen to have any secret potion or Occlumency technique that can keep Vold…" he trailed off at Snape's glare before saying, "the dark lord out of my mind, would you?"

"There is no potion in existence to do such a thing and if you had even attempted to learn Occlumency you would have learned how to keep your mind protected." Harry chuckled at Snape's waspish tone. "Something funny, Potter?"

"Your tone," Harry said, resting his chin in his hand as he gazed unblinkingly at his professor. "It's always the same with me… always so angry. Tell me, do you get off on taking out your childish rage on the son of James Potter?"

Snape's face, which held a neutral expression, turned absolutely livid as he gazed at Harry with murderous eyes. His right hand twitched, itching to curse the boy, but a flash of red in those bright emerald eyes gave him pause. "Who am I dealing with at the moment?" he asked harshly.

"Just me," Harry said with a small smile, pupils undulating with hidden, and very foreign, power. "He's busy right now. Something about a meeting, but since you're here I'm guessing you weren't invited, but I'm sure you're used to the kind of treatment."

Snape watched Harry with a newfound wariness. He might loath the boy, claim that the son was just as bad as the father, but he knew that this was not the young Potter's usual character. The boy had a childish and immature temper, and could have his moments of dull sarcasm, but he had never outwardly attacked Snape, nor had he ever spoken in such a way.

"Just as I'm sure you are used to being the dark lord's personal toy," Snape said softly, watching carefully.

Eyes flashed and fists tightened, but it was a natural reaction from anyone who was angry, especially a teen, but Harry only tilted his head in a curious expression before he yawned once more and looked away in an almost bored manner.

Ah, Snape could see what the boy was doing. Everything about Potter's actions spoke of hypocrisy from the previous action. This was a different game Potter was trying to play, but he was young and this was new to him. Potter had a dominate nature, but now someone was in control, and it was frightening to the boy. It was hard enough already knowing that a powerful madman was after his life, but possession was a whole new thing. Potter's life was starting to spin out of control, and it was taking his control and sanity with him.

"Potter, look at me," Snape commanded dangerously.

Scoffing, Harry turned his emerald gaze on black abyss eyes. "Yes?" he asked stonily.

Snape leaned forward, looking far more intimating than usual. His voice, which was a simple whisper, held a deadly seriousness that demanded nothing but the truth. "What has the dark lord been telling you?"

Snape leaned back after giving the demand, allowing the boy to feel a certain calm when having his own space. He watched with intent eyes, waiting to hear all the mental games the boy was forced to play. That would give him an idea of what he was dealing with.

Harry sighed as he gazed at his stern teacher, taking in the fierce face and folded arms. "Why does it matter what Voldemort said to me?" Harry asked, this time ignoring the warning glare for using the name.

"It matters, Potter," Snape growled, "because there are people risking their neck to protect you, and you, in your selfishness, are allowing him to manipulate you once more without a thought towards others. Now tell me what he has been whispering to you!" he barked.

Harry rolled his head back, reflecting on why Snape's usual intimidation was no longer working on him. He had always hated the man but had always held a certain fear and tenseness when he was spoken to with that hatred, but was he so used to Voldemort's poisonous whispers that Snape's waspish tone no longer had its desired effect.

"What has he said, what has he said," Harry mulled over, licking his dry lips while his green eyes stared at the ceiling. "Hm, yes, what has he said?" His lips upturned slightly as those brilliant green eyes rolled about, taking everything in before landing on Snape. A childish sounding giggle escaped him before he looked away as his eyes began to water. "Damn it," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes, but more tears kept coming. "Damn it, damn it!" Harry hissed, now running vigorously at his face. What was happening? He had much more control than this, especially in front of this bitter man, so why was he crying?

Snape waited patiently, eyes studying the boy in front of him. Snape had seen various minds unravel before him –pureblood, half-blood, muggle and muggleborn – and now he was seeing the supposed savior of the wizarding world crack, and there was truly nothing anyone could do about it. The dark lord had taken a personal interest, but something seemed almost off. The boy was not one to fall easily, but there were still so many things one had to equate. How long had the dark lord truly been speaking with the boy, what had he whispered, how much abuse had the boy suffered physically and mentally and, most important of all, what was it that finally made the boy tick?

Harry gave a deep sigh as he finally got control of his tears and just stared blankly at Snape, his mind wandering. "Yes, yes, what has he told me?" he murmured.

"Your insolent mind may be near its breaking point, Potter," Snape said softly, that deadly tone always present, "but we both know that you have yet to truly see even the edges of insanity and lunacy." Again Harry's lips quirked up, giving him the look of a deranged child that could see something the adult couldn't. "Speak, Potter, _now._" Ah, so the deadly tone had finally made its way to a threatening hiss. Nice to see that some things never changed.

"Speak," Harry mimicked, eyes glazing over.

Snape's face darkened and black eyes glittered dangerously. "Potter," he said sternly, watching for a reaction. There was none. Great, the boy had fled into his subconscious, and there just happened to be a dark lord there as well. Snape made a move to forcibly snap the boy out of his stupor, but before he could even fully lift his wand he felt a small sting from his dark mark. Ah, another warning.

It seemed that their master was playing favorite.

"Very well, Potter. It would seem that you are on your own." And with that, Snape disapparated.

As soon as the sullen man had left, Harry let out an annoyed sigh as his eyes retained their normal sheen and no longer held a dull, glazed look. _Nicely done, my pet._

Harry shuddered and fell flat on his back, tears once again cascading down his cheeks once he felt Voldemort's presence truly leave. The man couldn't constantly be in his mind. He did have a world to try and take over after all.

"Horcrux," Harry whispered to himself, lifting a hand above him and rubbing his fingers together. He was trying to make sense of it, feeling himself and find out what was and wasn't real. "Who am I?"

_Tom Riddle…_

Harry jumped, nail accidently digging into his pinky and causing a tiny trail of blood. "No," Harry moaned, having thought he would have a little alone time. He waited impatiently for the sadistic snake man to say more to him, but when nothing came, Harry searched his mind and found no trace of the other. His mind was his own for the moment. "Speaking to myself, am I?" And just wasn't that sad? No, not the talking to one's self, that wasn't what was sad.

What was sad was that Tom Riddle sounded so right in his mind.

(x0x)

Wow. I've been working on this thing for months now, and damn I feel proud. Don't worry too much, to those who know me, this story won't be long at all. Three chapters (long chapters) in total, so it won't take me years to finish this. I expect maybe two months at the most since I do work two jobs and go to school, so again, don't worry too much.

About the character Tonks; yea, I know she's a little put of character, but eh - she's grieving.

I hope you all enjoyed this! Please leave big, juicy reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

Alright, so I lied about there only being three chapters. I'm liking this too much and am finding more detail, more ideas and whatnot to put into this, so it should be, maybe, about thirteen chapters, most likely less. I see seven really, but we'll see.

(XoX)

If Tom were to be truthful about his first kill, he would say that his first kill truly hadn't been his first kill. It was in his sixth year that he had discovered the Chamber of Secrets, and long after that he had already begun studying and practicing what could be considered the Dark Arts.

He had been such a stupid, overexcited teenager at the time. He had learned about Horcrux's and knew how to create them, but never before had he ever killed a human being. An incredibly large amount of small animals and quite the number of larger magical creatures from the Forbidden Forest, yes, but never a human being, and that was the life force and energy needed to create the forbidden item.

When Tom had released the basilisk from its sleep, he had been so very careful with him, but again, he was a stupid, reckless teenager, one that made mistakes. The basilisk had followed him up the pipe where it had come across Myrtle, otherwise known as Moaning Myrtle, and had taken its chance to do what it was born to do – kill.

As soon as Tom saw the anguished girl look into those dreaded eyes he knew that instinct had literally taken over. The Eyes, as he called the basilisk's deadly skill, was not an instant kill like most thought. It was, in a way, a poison. Those deadly eyes poisoned the very soul, spoiling one's magic and inner self. It takes literally seconds for it to complete, and that is why most people think it is instant, but Tom knew, and he reacted on instinct. While the pathetic mudblood's soul was being ripped apart, he had cast the killing curse. That, unlike the Eyes, was truly instantaneous, and again he reacted on pure instinct. He had just learned about Horcrux's and had been itching to create one.

Moaning Myrtle's limp body lay at his feet, a slight mist forming slowly over her body and he knew that she would turn into a ghost. He didn't have much time. His soul was already calming from the kill. Like with the Eyes, when one kills their soul darkens and wriggles about as if contaminated but only lasts mere seconds.

Tom had tore his diary out from within his robes and quickly pointed his wand at the item, eyes glowing as he cast the sinful enchantment...

(XoX)

Harry awoke slowly. That is to say it wasn't just slow and sluggish body movement, but his mind as well. Hell, it even felt like his magic was sluggish. Letting out a soft sigh, Harry gingerly let his hand rest on his chest so he could feel what should be a steady heartbeat. He frowned at the sporadic beats.

Well, to be fair, he had just dreamt about Tom creating his first Horcrux.

"The diary," Harry mused. He sat up slowly, hand sliding down to his side as he blinked tiredly. "Merlin," he breathed, cracking his neck and thinking just how messed up he was. It just felt right, that dream. "Or should I say memory?" Harry mused to himself, folding his arms around his body in a self comforting gesture.

Turning to the window to take in the new day, Harry glanced down at the bush his watchers seem to flock to whenever it was their turn. He watched for any sign of movement, and sure enough the bush shook a bit as if in a greeting, but to his surprise a quick flash of someone's face levitating within the bush showed before it disappeared.

"Huh, Dung," Harry mused with a small grin. Despite the dirty mans reputation, Harry didn't mind Dung in the slightest. He had always provided a sort of humor in his own way, stealing items that Sirius would have gladly given away for free. Aside from a few bizarre items that Sirius had been oddly protective of, he had all but watched Dung steal right in front of him with the largest smile and a shared glance with Harry…

Harry shuddered and looked down, not wishing to go back to those memories. He had too much going on right now, and bringing unwanted and even more, grief to his frazzled mind wouldn't be smart.

"Stop this," Harry moaned, rubbing his forehead. Even thinking about Sirius was enough to make his eyes begin to water. "Ok, ok, calm down," Harry told himself, looking back out the window. "It's a new day… just do something." He sighed. This was pathetic.

Again he looked down, staring at the rose bushes that had maybe once been planted by him. He honestly couldn't remember anymore. He stared almost as if within a trance. His mind was blank even while his eyes gazed about the entirety of the garden, not taking in the unmoving plants – what was that? Blinking, the thick cloud within his mind slowly back trekked as Harry tilted his head. There, almost completely camouflaged in with its surroundings, was a long, green snake.

Normally, Harry would have just ignored the sight. He had seen plenty of garden snakes, what with him gardening his whole life, but he had just had that dream with the basilisk. Not to mention he had never known he could speak to snakes. Speaking of which, after the incident with the boa constrictor, why on earth had he not tried to communicate with more, just to see if they too understood?

Ah, now I remember, Harry mused, peeling off his pajamas and washing up in the bathroom sink. I had been manhandled and all but thrown into my old room by my hair, Harry thought with just a tad bit of dark amusement.

Looking into the bathroom mirror, Harry took in his worn face. The circles under his eyes would soon make him look like some sort of cross between a human and a panda if his body and mind didn't get enough rest. Proper rest, mind you. His skin was starting to look sickly as well. Not enough nutrition or proper health care.

Harry's mind went back to how young Tom Riddle, the sixteen year old he had met and dreamt about, looked like. The young man had, quite honestly, looked gorgeous. Healthy pale skin that was nearly ghost like had allowed his eyes to give off a piercing look. What color were they? Harry honestly couldn't remember, but he could remember the smooth face that could look stone cold once he was angered or as soft as feathered pillows when feeling or giving off puzzlement and curiosity.

Slowly, Harry reached for his face, still watching his every movement in the mirror, and began studying himself. He felt along his cheek bones, chin, nose, forehead and even eyelids. He was comparing himself to not Voldemort, but to Tom Riddle. Suffice to say in his current state he was no match for the good looks Riddle had in his youth. In fact, Harry could even say in this sickly state he was truly ugly.

"Hey, open up!" an annoyed voice yelled, startling Harry out of his musings. "You've been in there long enough, freak!"

Harry sighed at Dudley's tone. Despite the fact that his larger cousin had been son afraid yesterday didn't mean he wouldn't go back to his old ways, especially so early in the morning when minds were jumbled and forgetful.

"Yea, yea," Harry moaned, opening the door and sliding out of the way. The door hadn't even shut all the way before the sound of someone peeing met Harry's ears. Ah, so that's why he was in such a hurry to get in.

Smiling crookedly to himself, Harry bypassed his aunt and went outside towards the bushes. He settled himself in front of it, back straight as he gazed at the spot where he had last seen the sketchy thief. "Hey, Dung," he murmured quietly.

There was a small rustling before a head appeared. "'Ello there, Harry." Again Mundungus Fletcher's face came into view, but instead of disappearing it stayed there. Straggly, ginger hair swept down the sides of his face like wispy spider webs and a yellow toothed smile was thrown Harry's way. "Heard you been doin' a bit of scarin' to our members, laddie."

Harry scowled. "What did Tonks tell you lot?" he asked hotly, eyes glaring into the garden to watch the green snake move its way about the flowers.

"Tonks?" Confusion spread over Dung's feature's before he gave another oily grin, those gray eyes of his watching Harry curiously. "No, it's what ol'e Snape been sayin'." He chuckled as Harry's scowl grew. "Now I'm not here to make trouble wiv you, I'm just here ta watch over ya, ye hear?"

Harry nodded, eyes still watching the floating head curiously. "Dung," he said seriously, "is there an anti-muggle and noticing charm set over this area?"

Dung's head nodded importantly. "Right ye are, Harry."

"Then, Dung," Harry said sweetly, "why do you Order members always have to wear an invisibility cloak? I mean, no one can see you, can they?"

Dung's face crinkled once more into confusion. His eyes narrowed in an ugly manner to show that he was thinking it over. "Ye know what, boy," he responded with another yellow toothed grin, "I 'ave no idea!"

Harry really couldn't help but snort at that, though he did gaze at the sleazy thief with a fond look. Ah Dung, you blind follower. "Hey, Dung," Harry said seriously, watching the man remove the invisibility cloak now that it seemed he would have a longer conversation, "would you promise not to freak out if I did something weird?"

"Somthin' weird? You ain't practicing magic, are you? You knows better den dat." There was no reprimand in that tone, and it honestly seemed like the man wanted to see what Harry was about to do.

"No magic," Harry assured, a tired look falling upon him as he returned his gaze back to the snake. "Just testing something."

Without another word, Harry walked towards the flower garden, taking great care to step lightly and not create any loud noises. He heard Dung make a few moves to follow but he made a quick swiping motion with his hand to stop the lanky man. His wish was satisfied when there were no more footsteps. A small smile wormed its way onto Harry's face, though there was no emotion. He kneeled slowly, ignoring the warning hiss as the green snake curled into a ball. He stared almost anxiously, not entirely sure how to speak parseltongue or what he was hoping to accomplish with this. Should he just speak normally? Had he done something different with the boa at the zoo? How was that boa anyway?

Frowning at his too random thoughts, Harry finally focused his entire attention on the lengthy snake. His tongue flicked out to moisturize his dry lips before finally opening them to speak. _'Hello, little snake.'_

There were two reactions. The first, from Dung, was a loud gasp and gibberish sounding questions that Harry paid no mind to. The second, the one Harry had been paying attention to, was from the grass snake. It recoiled faster than the eye could see and its black tongue was flicking out like a hummingbird beating its wings.

'_A speaker,' _it hissed in awe, lengthening its body upwards so that it may take a better look at Harry. Its voice was smooth and elegant, not unlike that of a rich bureaucrat or pureblood, and had a very smooth tone. _'A speaker!' _it hissed again, the silky tone somehow not losing its edge with its apparent glee. The grass snake tilted its head in what Harry believed to be a bow. _'How may I serve you, speaker and king of serpents?'_

Harry literally just stared dumbly at the exuberant beast. If every snake had spoken to Voldemort that way ever since he was a child it was no wonder the man had such a large ego.

"Harry, what are ye doin'?" Dung asked carefully, eyes lit up in awe. Harry turned his head around to stare at the man. There was no disgust or fear. "I 'ad 'eard you was a snake speaker," he whispered excitedly, obviously trying to show enough respect as to not scare the snake, "but I 'ad no idea it was true!"

Harry didn't say anything to the man. He just turned his back on the excited thief and held out his had carefully. _'Come with me,' _he ordered, watching as the snake gave an excited hiss and slithered up his arm where it rested its head on his shoulder. He stood, gaze empty and lip becoming numb from how hard he was biting down on it.

"Harry?" Harry didn't give the man any notification he had heard him. Carefully, Dung continued. "Did you, er, well…" He trailed off uncomfortably. "Are ye lookin' fer somethin'? Did the little snake tell you what you is lookin' fer?"

Had he found what he was looking for? Had he been trying to prove a point, talking to this snake like a sixteen year old Tom Riddle? Was he trying to see if he would get any images or memories of his supposed true past of being Tom Riddle? Was he hoping to accomplish _anything_?

"No," Harry whispered hoarsely. "I haven't found a damn thing."

(XoX)

It was truly a stereotypical look for a room, especially when the room in question was a room owned by a dark lord. It much to dark for one to see properly; barely being lit by a few sparse black candles that dripped wax into grotesque looking shapes on the floor. Each lit candle didn't flicker at all, a seemingly impossibility, but the room was stuffy with magic.

The walls were made of old stone from the 1400's and had been imprinted with ancient magic. Their cold exterior only seemed to give the dark room a depressing look. The room was mainly bare, save for the long, moon curved couch made of Puma skin with its fur used as cushioning. In the middle of this long couch is a large table that had been carved out of alder tree. It is large and thick, and the way it was carved made it look as if a stump with its roots was sitting in place. On top of the table, carved into it with knife soaked in owl's blood, was what looked like the alphabet in old English letters.

It was an Ouija board.

Scattered about the board were dozens of crystals, each one a different color or simply a different shade of a similar color. There was salt scattered about, forming strange designs on the board and above it as well. The salt that floated above the table was perfectly still, though occasionally all the salt would rearrange itself.

"Still practicing alomancy, are you?" a cool voice asked, interrupting the deadly silence of the room.

Eyes with no color or pupils turned toward the speaker. "It is a clear way of finding what you ask of me, milord," was the whispered answer. A man that looked like death sat in the middle of a crescent moon couch. His eyes were just whites, though they seemed to hold an intensity that gave them an alive look. The man was incredibly skinny, looking like a moving skeleton as an aged hand tossed more salt into the air. Bits of stringy white hair stuck out awkwardly upon the man's head, though there were no other hairs on his body.

"Ah, but we both know anthropomancy would be much more ideal to see what lies ahead of us, don't you think?" A lipless smile spread across the speaker's face. "Shall I have one of my servants fetch you another corpse? You prefer children to teens or adults, don't you my seer?"

The deathly man gave a small hum. "Female, preferably," he told his master, white eyes coming up to meet the blood red eyes of Lord Voldemort. "I would appreciate it, my master, for a child of seven, and one with magic in her blood, stolen or otherwise."

That lipless smile spread even further. "Of course, my seer." Voldemort allowed his gaze to trail over the naked man's body carefully, taking in the many detailed tattoos that allowed this man to contact a world that even he, Lord Voldemort, dare not enter for fear of losing his purpose. Once one truly goes into the spiritual world of divination, your mind is no longer your own. "What does your magic have for me today, dear seer?" Voldemort demanded, coming to rest in front of the table.

The old man, Lord Voldemort's seer, for he had no name other than that, raised a shaking hand and made a shooing motion. The salt disappeared and the crystals flew towards an open chest sitting against the cold wall. The man then rose, uncaring of his nude appearance as he grabbed a simple looking wooden cane with many advance runes carved into it and hobbled towards one of various priceless looking chests sitting against the wall in no apparent order. He fumbled around in it and brought out three strange looking dice. One was a black color that looked like a standard six-sided die, though it was blank. The second one was blue and seemed like a barely die, but instead of numbers it had runic symbols. The final one was blood red and was a ten sided die, and like the other it had no number, but instead symbols of the elements.

Ah, astragalomancy, or otherwise known as divination with dice. Yet another simple way of divining the ever strange future.

"I would prefer something more stable and trustworthy," Voldemort sneered, eyes roaming the many chests as if the thing he was seeking would come out on its own. He had no time for answers that had so many meanings that may never even come true. One needed to know the signs and follow the correct path, but Lord Voldemort had neither the patience nor the time.

The seer paused, white eyes seemingly looking at nothing, before he spoke to his master. "If I may, master, you are rather limited in your choices to your regards with the Potter boy. It is unwise to choose unclear means with the one you are connected to." Forbidden knowledge, him being connected to Potter, and only he and his seer were truly aware of it, but his connection was his do with as he pleased.

Instantly, the seer gasped, hand going slack so that they released the dice to the floor. Slowly – and oh so painfully – the seer was levitated into the air, limbs extending to the point where they might as well pop out of their joints. Skeletal ribs heaved up and down as the deathly man keened in pain. Veins bulged visibly as pain wracked the poor man.

Voldemort stalked toward his limp seer, wand held securely in spider leg long fingers. The bone white wand reached out and traced a line down the seers chest, stomach and finally rested on the pitiable mans limp penis where it began to caress in a horribly cruel and mocking way. Blood eyes watched the gaunt face frown with silent protestation, but like always, the seer knew his place when he was being punished by his master.

"'If you may'?" Lord Voldemort hissed. "No, my seer, you may not. Do not think for one moment that because you have immersed your very soul into time magic does not mean you know more than me or can speak to your master with such disrespect."

The seer began to writhe in pain as an invisible force squeezed hard enough that the man couldn't even focus on his masters words.

"In the case that your mind be lurking in the past or scouring the future, I advise that you revert your attention to the present, to now, where I demand that you do what I say," was the silky demand, wand twisting ever so slightly on the appendage and bringing an earsplitting shriek. "Do you understand?" Voldemort hissed.

"Ye-yes, master," the seer rasped, gasping as he fell to the ground. He breathed in deeply, veins still pulsing from the silent blood burning spell and body shivering from the physical pain. "Sha-shall…" The seer took a deep breath. "Will Cephalomancy please you?"

Lord Voldemort regarded the disgusting man. Gifted the man may be in time magic, but in all else he was weak and ugly. Without a word Voldemort reached into his robes and pulled out an empty vial. Then, placing his wand on the palm of his hand, he cut down like it was a knife. A thin cut appeared, and quickly the blood was magicked into the vial, filling it completely. When the last drop entered, Voldemort silently healed the cut and all but the thrust the vial into the fallen mans hand.

"Very well," Voldemort sneered. "I will be back at the appropriate time."

"I live to serve my master," he said respectfully as Voldemort headed toward the door, both of them knowing that Cephalomancy, skull divining, needed a full six hours to be set up.

"Oh, and seer?" Voldemort paused, clawed nails grinding against the metallic door as he turned to stare back at the near dead seer. His eyes lowered and his lip curled in disdain. "Rid yourself of your problem before I get back." With that, the dark lord turned and swept out of the room, the door slamming shut like prison bars.

The seer waited a few minutes, white, pupiless eyes staring at the door blankly, before rising to his feet with the help of his cane that had fallen. He stood with a slouched figure, tattooed feathered wings more pronounced on his slight hunchback before he hobbled toward the fallen dice, uncaring of the hard on between his legs.

The seer stamped his cane down on the ground once, a single rune glowing near the foot of it. The dice rose into the air, and for once the seer felt surprise tingle through him. It was interesting and a bit frightening at once.

He assessed the blue die. The runes showing glowed a sickly blue-black and seemed to drip oil like liquid. Poison. Betrayal. Knowledge. Tragedy. Ally. Change. Wholeness. So many meanings and so many paths.

He next assessed the red die, smiling a little as it made a small whistling sound, the symbol of air glowing on it. The Winds of Change.

And, finally, he turned to the black die. At this the seer visibly frowned. The number seven kept flickering to a six and so forth. It wasn't that it couldn't make up its mind. It was that whatever it was that was affecting it was still in the process of evolving.

Pursing his lips, the seer hobbled toward a circular pit that stood behind his couch – his home and means of divining – and pointed his cane at the pit. "Vidi Visum."

The runes glowed a sky blue before blue fire shot out at the bottom of the can, alighting in the pit where it danced beautifully and pulsed with magic. Shadow figures danced about on the walls, but the seer paid them no mind. He had no time for shadow stories at the moment. Instead, he focused on the smoke rising and twisting in the air, going at a slow pace almost in a teasing manner. Finally, the smoke gave off the image of an old – if not ancient – ring. It hovered, almost unmoving for a moment, before the smoke began to move away like wind was blowing against it into the form of a lighting bolt.

As the smoke gave no indication of making anymore pictures, the seer smiled to himself. It was an ugly, almost demonic smile that didn't seem natural on a human. Smile widening to reveal very few teeth, the seer lowered his arm to his hardened length and began to stroke.

"I live to serve my master…"

(XoX)

"So what is it? Is der a reason you're so depressed aside from, well ya know? Come now, boy! Ye know what I mean!"

Harry smiled, truly amused by Dung's pleas. He had wandered back into the house and into his room, Dung following with question after question. The man was apparently fascinated with the fact that Harry could speak the snake language, but surprisingly enough he was asking more about Harry's state of mind and how he was dealing with everything in his own way. It was surprising, how worried Dung was.

"I'm surprised you're so worried," Harry mused, holding up his hands so the skinny green snake could slither about between his fingers. "Not that I'm not touched," he added, green eyes glittering with a dark, depressed amusement, "but it's just that I didn't think we were close is all."

"Shoot, boy!" Dung laughed. "Ye and I not close enough? Did ye or did ye not steal from the ol' Black house with all but a smirk on yer face?" Well, he had. Both he and Sirius had thought it dreadfully amusing. "If dat ain't the beginning of a friendship, I don't know what is."

Now wasn't that just interesting?

"Sure, Dung." Harry quirked a grin, moving his fingers about to keep up with the snake slithering all over him.

The odd creature occasionally made pleased hisses or made some comment. The garden snake wasn't very smart, or particularly knowledgeable, and Harry found himself disappointed. The boa at the zoo had seemed pretty smart. Were there different levels of awareness for snakes? Were the smaller ones dumb while the larger ones had knowledge? Did it matter if a snake was venomous or magical? _What _was Harry trying to prove here?

"Ye know, 'arry, I got these artifacts," Dung was saying excitedly, mouthing off incredibly fast while Harry only played with the snake in a bored and detached manner, "and most of 'em are guarded by snakes, see. Got some contacts as well, and dey got some of da same problems as me. Dem locks get all hissy hissy and stay locked."

Dung nodded eagerly before his face darkened into one of seriousness. "Some of dem artifacts ain't exactly light, if ya know what I mean." Illegal items. Wow, what a surprise. "And I'd appreciate it if ye would keep dis between ourselves." Dung gave a large, oily grin and rubbed his hands. "And if ye do, I'll give ye ten percent!"

Harry couldn't help but chuckle. That was so Dung; trying to bribe him into silence. "That's alright," he said, and truly was. He didn't care about money, and he was actually interested to see if there were artifacts that could open from the Parseltongue language.

Dung looked unsure, looking as if he didn't get Harry to take some sort of bribe he'd be more inclined to tell an Order member. "Are ye sure, lad? My artifacts ain't cheap, and neither are my customers, if ye know what I mean." Yea, Harry was sure he did. "Alright, how about I get ye something else? Do ye need something? If ye need hard ta get items, I'm yer man!"

That was so very true.

"Actually," Harry mused, feeling rather sullen, "that would be perfect, Dung."

The man gave that wide, yellow toothed grin of his. "O' course, 'arry! What do ye need? Something from Diagon? Bet yer getting a little stuffy in 'ere, not able ta go shoppin' and whatnot—"

"Not from Diagon Alley," Harry interrupted, looking away with a hard look. He grit his teeth, feeling like he should have some sort of inner turmoil, but he wasn't. In fact, he was feeling almost _giddy. _"I need information on the Dark Arts," he said seriously, finally turning to look back at the crook.

Dung looked unsure, almost as he if wasn't sure Harry had just said that. "'arry…"

"Dung, I have a question," Harry interrupted, picking up the garden snake and playing with it in his hands again.

"Er, sure." The poor man looked so troubled.

"Doing what you do—"

"And what exactly do I do?" Dung demanded hotly.

"Steal, bribe, sell illegal items, meet with dark wizards," Harry listed, throwing a smug grin at the ruffled man as he pretended to tick off a list with his fingers. It probably didn't help that the garden snake was hissing in a threatening way at Dung.

"Alrigh', alrigh'," Dung sighed, holding up his hands in defeat. "Sheesh, ye'd think my job would be a bit tight lipped amongst ye youngsters."

"With the company you keep?" Harry asked. "Nah." And then he got serious. "But as I was saying. Doing what you do, you've obviously had to practice, learn and know about certain items and know the right people, right?"

Dung nodded slowly, not looking ashamed at all.

"Well, I'm expected to stop Voldemort, right?"

"No one's expecting anythin' of ye,' Dung said quickly, about to go one of those ramblings that the other adults gave Harry in an effort to make him feel secured and safe from the world.

"Wrong," Harry growled, voice cold as he fixed Dung with a hard look. He sat up straighter, the hissing snake managing to give him an even more threatening demeanor. "Whether or not my friends want to keep me safe, I am expected to fight, and even if I wasn't, there are too many people that want me dead. Whether or not because I have personally dealt with them, or because I am apparently Voldemort's number one priority, they will still attack me. Now," and here Harry leaned forward, grin absolutely deranged, "don't you think it's a bit unfair that I go into duels with little to no knowledge on dark spells?"

Dung looked absolutely flabbergasted. "Well, no," he admitted, beginning to look intrigued, if not hesitant. "But if I do help ye out, how will ye keep it a secret? Da Order ain't exactly open minded, ye know. Dey only keep me so I can keep certain packages from being shipped out or sold ta the wrong sort, ye know?" His tone was vaguely annoyed, but not as much as Harry thought as it would be. The crook obviously gained more with Dumbledore's protection, even if he was being limited in his sales lately.

"Well, that would be your job, now wouldn't it?" Harry asked with a grin, snake winding around his neck as it finally ceased its hissing. "I'll see what I can do with the items you need," Harry continued quickly before the man could say anything, "and anything I need hidden, you do it for me."

Dung frowned. "And how do ye plan on getting books and whatnot?"

"You," Harry said simply.

"I'm not a charity case," Dung groused. "I get where yer coming from lad, I really do, but I don't have unlimited resourced, ye know."

"I'll pay you," Harry said quickly, eyes intent. "Whatever your price, I'll pay, and if you need more items opened or dealt with in Parseltongue, I'll do it. I won't say a word to the Order, just as I'm sure you won't."

The frown deepened. "I am a part of da Order, 'arry," Dung pointed out. "It's my duty to report back to Dumbledore."

"You report back to Dumbledore, you lose your only willing Parseltongue translator," Harry argued carefully. "I wonder, Mundungus, how much these little treasure's of yours are truly worth. You had seemed awfully excited just moments ago. I'm sure there are many rich wizards that would love to have something that might have been made by the Slytherin line." Harry pretended to look curious. "I wonder how much gold some pureblood would be willing to offer…"

"Alrigh', alrigh'!" Dung laughed, looking a tad ruffled. He ran a hand over his head, not looking at Harry but instead watching the snake. He sighed after a moment, a greedy grin quickly spreading. "Alrigh', lad," he agreed, scratching a cheek. "I get ye what ye need, and ye pay. What we're doin' though, lad, this goes beyond a simple promise to keep quiet, ye know what I'm sayin'?"

Harry frowned. "An Oath, then?" he said carefully, not entirely sure. He had heard about Unbreakable Oaths, yes, but was not well informed.

Dung shook his head. "Nah. We need three fer one an Oath. 'Sides, this is a business deal, innit? We sign a contract."

Harry turned away thoughtfully. "If I sign a contract, how soon can you get me set up?"

"That depends," Dung said carefully. "What do ye need?"

"Books," Harry answered immediately, face still lowered so Dung couldn't make out his expression or the growing grin. "And whatever else I may need." After a moment, he looked back up, unconsciously rubbing his ring finger.

Dung sucked on his lip thoughtfully. "I can get ye books easy enough, lad. Hell, ol' Grimmauld's has enough… Well, had enough." He gave an easy grin. "I'll lend ye a few of dem fer free."

"Well aren't you generous," Harry joked.

"You bet yer arse I'm generous," Dung retorted. "I'm helpin' ye, ain't I?"

"For a price," Harry pointed out.

The seedy man roared with laughter. "Ye know me too well, lad." He shook his head. "If yer serious, I'll have da contract written up by tomorrow. Dumbledore doesn't have me scouring about all dat often these days, so I'm free enough to babysit you just about everyday."

"Well, aren't I lucky," Harry drawled, watching Dung give another hearty chuckle before heading toward the exit. "Wait," he called, stopping the man just before he opened the door. Dung turned back, confused as Harry bit at his lip, looking unsure for the first time since they had entered the house together. "Dung, call me Tom."

Dung was completely thrown off. "Eh, what do ye want me to do tha' for, 'arr—?"

"Tom," Harry interrupted, eyes completely wide and looking incredibly unbalanced. "Please."

Dung frowned and gave a little cough. "Er, alrigh', Tom. Is… is everything, alrigh', Tom?" he asked, stressing on the name.

Again Harry looked away, eyes watering. He was afraid he would begin crying at any moment. "No," he answered. "I'm not."

Dung hesitated, unsure whether or not he should leave. "Tom, maybe ye should—"

"Call me Harry," Harry interrupted, trying to hide a sniffle. God he was so messed up right now. "I'm sorry," he said, but didn't offer an explanation. To his surprise, the man didn't press. Instead, he walked straight up to him and, ignoring the snake, pressed a firm hand on his should and squeezed.

"Tom or 'arry, whichever ye are, I'm 'ere." The hand squeezed tighter for a moment before letting go. Without another word, the man left Harry to his thoughts.

The tears finally fell, and for a moment Harry thought Voldemort would pop up, but his mind was silent. For once it was silent.

(XoX)

Author Notes:

Wow, a bit shorter than I thought, but I really don't want to rush. I am terribly sorry about Dung's accent, but I have never done accents and I figured this would be the best time to start practicing. Hopefully I'll get better as the chapters go by.

Poor Harry though. His mind and magic is so messed up right now. Perfect! I need him that way for the next chapter, and then by the fourth, no more whiny Harry Potter.


	3. Chapter 3

He had done it.

That was the first thing Tom Riddle thought once he had fled the girls bathroom and had retreated into the safety of the Slytherin common room. He held his diary close with one hand, the other resting upon his chest to push down on his erratic heart beat. He felt sick. No, sick wasn't the proper word for what he was feeling.

He felt like was dying.

'_No,'_ Tom hissed in Parseltongue, voice low as to not attract attention from the very few people remaining in the common room.

He began to pace in a corner, aura unwelcoming. Everyone knew by now not to even go near Tom when he was in one of these moods. The Slytherin's knew their place, and that went for the seventh years as well. No one could match his power in the miserable place.

'_Calm thyself,' _Tom whispered, eyes beginning to water. His magic felt completely off. It felt vile, almost like poison. Was his magic ruined forever? No! No such thing had been mentioned in Tom's studies about Horcrux's. _'Calm thyself,' _Tom whispered again, finally deciding to flee to his bedroom.

His back was stiff as he walked, daring those who were around to even glance at him. None did. As soon as he entered, his dark eyes immediately landed on Kaleen Stryfe, an unwitty and uninteresting boy from a small pureblood family. His blood didn't reach back centuries like most, but instead only a few decades. That wouldn't normally bother Tom, but the boy was just so _weak_. He was a complete opposite of Tom, and just staring at the other made his already sick body want to retch.

"Be gone!" Tom snapped, tone almost a mixture of Parseltongue and English.

Kaleen squeaked. He dropped the book he had been reading – Charms, Tom noticed – and fled. The door slammed shut behind him, and finally Tom was alone. Tom locked it with a single twitch of his wand before he slid to his knees. His diary fell from his grasp and lay open, the pages blank. For a moment, Tom stared. All his writing, all his thoughts and work, they were gone.

He shut his eyes, body swaying. No! he thought angrily. You are stronger than this!

Taking several deep breathes, Tom raised his wand and silently levitated some ink and a quill over, but on the way over they dropped as he lost control and began to dry heave. Infuriated and disgusted with himself for being so weak, Tom just snatched the items from the ground and all but stabbed the diary with his quill.

_Hello?_

Tom waited impatiently as he stared at the messy writing. Normally his writing was so smooth and beautiful, but not now, not when his body felt sick and his magic felt wrong. When nearly a full minute passed without anything happening, Tom almost closed the diary, thinking he had somehow failed the spell, but the words disappeared.

_Hello, how are you today?_

Tom paused, not sure what to make of it. Just as he was about to dip his quill into his ink, more writing appeared.

_A little under the weather, perhaps? I should think so, since I am just flowing in magic at the moment, my other._

Slowly, a dark smile stretched across Tom's face. It had worked. He had actually done it – he had made a Horcrux! He was truly on the path to immortality, and wasn't that just like him, to rub it in his own face?

_Perhaps when we make the next Horcrux, dear other, we should do it with a bit more planning. Honestly, what are we, a couple of Gryffindors? _

Tom smirked at his smart mouth of a diary, quill already poised with a witty comeback and some dry humor, but then he promptly began to dry heave as his magic struggled to right itself from within…

(XoX)

Harry lay wide awake, unable to fall asleep after waking up from that continual dream. Or really, could it be considered a memory? A memory of Tom making his first Horcrux, that is. And if Harry truly was a Horcrux, did that just make him a copy of Voldemort? Or, like the man had said, a piece of him?

"How many times can you split yourself?" Harry asked himself, sitting up carefully.

The garden snake had been sleeping on his chest, but at the first sign of movement it was awake and moving about. It gave a hissed greeting to Harry as it slithered toward the foot of his bed where it curled up. The garden snake was really useless and uninformative. It could offer Harry no answers simply because it knew nothing. It knew of speakers, yes, but only because it was common knowledge that was practically inbred into all snakes. Again, it was useless, but Harry let it stay. Perhaps when Hedwig returned from wherever she was he would allow her to eat it.

"How many Horcrux's are there?" Harry asked, pacing the room. His back was hunched, body wet and sticky with sweat and his vision blurry. He hadn't even bothered to put on his glasses. "What to do, what to do…" Harry murmured, pondering on just about everything. He wondered if Voldemort's Horcrux's were aware of each other, or at least the ones made when Voldemort had been older. Tom Riddle's diary obviously hadn't known Harry was one, but then again Voldemort could be lying.

"But why does it sound right!" Harry snarled in rage, fist slamming into his wall.

A loud snort from his relative's room made him pause, but when the snoring continued he relaxed. The Dursley's were many things, laziness being a large part of themselves, so it was nigh impossible for them to wake up from a small amount of noise.

Harry moved away from the window and sat down on his bed, dull green eyes staring down at the snake on his bed. Slowly, he ran his fingers down the reptile, smiling a bit as it hissed in thanks. His body heat was most welcome to the little thing, just as its presence was most welcome to Harry. As much as he loathed it, he needed someone or something right now. It didn't matter if that person or thing could talk back, rationalize or even grunt, so long as he knew someone was truly watching his back, his mind could settle a little.

It was such a shame that his company at present was quite dull.

(XoX)

"Alrigh', lad," Dung grunted as he entered Harry's room without so much as a knock a little after one in the afternoon. The con man was smoking heavily on his pipe. Blue smoke was rising steadily, creating a personal little smoke cloud the smelled of blueberries and tobacco. "I've got it righ' 'ere, 'arry."

"Tom," Harry said swiftly, eyes still reading his fifth year transfiguration book. His jaw was tight but he looked resolute.

Dung shifted a bit. "Right." Again he shifted, clearly uncomfortable with this. He fumbled with a small, wooden box with intricate designs that appeared to be runes from a different culture. Harry couldn't be sure; he didn't know anything about that. "Here ye are, Tom."

Harry tossed his book aside and took a proper look at the wooden box Dung had set before him. Carved snakes on all four sides actually slithered in an unending circle, each one trying to nip the other's tail. The little garden snake slithered over, a confused hiss escaping it.

'_Don't touch it,' _Harry admonished, pushing the snake away.

Immediately, the box lit up in gold light, much to Dung's glee. His eyes went wide and body began to tremble eagerly. His eyes kept darting from Harry to the box and vice versa, only to slump his shoulder's as the glow retreated.

'_Do our senses speak the truth?' _the snakes hissed as one, causing the little green snake to jerk back in fright and slither away. Harry shook his head hopelessly before averting his attention back to the box. There were a total of five carved snakes on the wooden device and they were all going in a continuous circle around the top part of the lid, each one smaller than the last. _'It has been so long since our creator last touched us, held us close and trusted in us,' _they continued to hiss, the wooden scales on their body seemingly glowing with a life like quality.

Harry ran his finger down the largest serpent, mouth quirking upward as they all hissed in delight before frowning and moving his hand away. _'I am sorry to disappoint,' _he said, _'but I am not your creator. You were brought to me.' _He watched them carefully; wary of any attack or curse that the magical object could create.

The slithering stopped. _'But you speak to us.' _Was it possible for hisses to sound dejected?

'_I'm sorry,' _Harry hissed back, feeling oddly guilty. _'But there have been plenty of speakers before me. A whole family and generations past. Do you truly not know who created you?'_

" 'ey, Tom! What are they sayin', eh?" Dung was absolutely jumping in his seat as he stared at the scene play out before him. His eyes watched with an intensity Harry didn't know the man had. His twitchy little fingers seemed to want to inch closer to the box. Harry pulled it closer to his chest and stared down at the still moving snakes.

'_A speaker created us. We do not know what our creator's name or even gender. You all look the same, human speaker.' _The last part was said sadly.

Harry cleared his throat. _'Well, can you at least tell me what your creator wanted you to hide?'_

The snakes continued to circle, seemingly thinking about it. At last, _'We serve speakers. We shall serve your will and desires.'_

Harry smiled grimly. _'Then open,' _he said smoothly, _'and show me the treasures that you beauties guard with much valor.' _

They hissed loudly, obviously pleased with the compliment. They circled once more over the lid before sliding to the sides of the box and biting each others tales and going stiff, creating a full circle of some sort of multi ouroboros, and glowing a bright neon blue. The lid removed itself, and out from it rose several layers of smooth wood looking more like a multilayered jewelry box. Harry's eyes roamed every detail, mentally counting. There were six compartments.

Dung made a strangled sort of choking sound of excitement and lunged, hands wrapping around the box and wrenching it away from Harry. The moment Harry lost contact with the enchanted box the snakes once again glowed a bright neon blue, and to Harry's horror, Dung fell to the ground screaming in pure agony. The sound that was ripped from him sent shivers through Harry's very core. He had never heard a banshee cry her dreaded shriek but he assumed this was about as close as would ever get.

"Oh shit!" Harry all but jumped on Dung as he tried to hold the spasming and screaming man. "Shit, shit!" Harry hissed, trying to wrench the enchanted box away from the con artist, but the man held strong. "Fuck, Dung, let go!" Harry screamed.

Dung continued to scream violently, body shaking like a man who's been possessed. "Fuuu," the man moaned, eyes rolling and actually beginning to cry blood.

Harry grimaced, stomach starting to churn as the bumps starting forming all over his skin. They looked like purple warts and grew faster than Harry could believe before they started to split and oozed purple puss. "Damn it!" Harry took Dung's hands and tried to break the fingers in hope that would get the man to let go.

"What the hell is going on in here!" The door to Harry's tiny room slammed open with a force that Harry didn't know his aunt had. It slammed against his wall with a bang that sounded like thunder and the scream and heavy breathing coming from his aunt was more like a rabid minotaur than a skinny woman. She stalked forward, heavy frying pan in hand, and froze in mid swing. Her eyes bulged out and her mouth gapped like a dying fish.

Harry froze, staring at his aunt in shock, his limbs trying in vain to remove Dung's hands. The split moment of shock wore off when another scream echoed throughout the house and Harry was once again giving his seedy friend is full attention.

"Fuck!" he shouted as Dung accidently kneed him during another round of violent seizures. He glared at the enchanted box and concentrated. _'Stop it!' _he ordered. _'I command you to stop!'_

The snakes hissed in agitation. _'Thief!' _they raged. _'We hurt any that try and steal us!'_

'_Remove the curse now,' _Harry hissed forcefully, _'or I will make sure you are destroyed in the worst possible way!'_

The sound they made was perhaps the most distressing sound Harry had ever heard from a snake, enchanted or not. The glowing stopped and the box finally fell from Dung's grasp where it clattered to the floor and once again closed and locked itself. Harry raised Dung up, dragging him to his bed.

"Either help or get the fuck out!" Harry snarled at his aunt, green eyes burning with frustration. She gapped some more, cooking pan falling from her grasp in shock where it fell with a few loud clangs, and bolted for the exit, door banging shut. "Fucker," Harry grimaced, trying to avoid the oozing purple puss.

"Auu," Dung moaned, body still shaking. He opened glazed eyes, head rolling and saliva dripping from his mouth. "Broke one…" He broke off with a harsh cough and shiver. "Broke one of my ferst rules," Dung finally choked out. "Never touch somethin' without checkin' it." He coughed some more and rose a shaky hand to his chest, feebly trying to find something in his inner coat pocket. " 'arry, portkey," he hacked. "Green pebble…"

Harry reacted quickly and searched frantically the inner workings of Dung's coat. He feared it would be a lost cause because the man appeared to have dozens of pockets that were charmed to hold different amounts of items or only specific nick knacks. Dung, it appeared, had mostly junk, at least to Harry's eyes, though he did pull out a diamond necklace. He all but tossed the items on his bed before; at long last, he pulled out a smooth pebble that looked a bit like green sandstone.

"Now what?" Harry demanded, turning the stone over in his hand.

Dung gave a deep shuddering breath, bumps beginning to ooze at an alarming rate all over Harry's bed. "Get da box," he rasped. "Need it."

"It's what did this to you!" Harry snarled. "No way am I letting you touch it again."

Dung gave another choked cough. "Need signature," he hissed, eyes shutting tight. "Hold it an' me," he commanded, "and say burning coals. Take us ta the hostpital." He shuddered again, his head tilting to the side.

"Dung?" Hesitantly, Harry brought his fingers to the conman's neck. It took a moment, but when he finally found the pulse he breathed a sigh of relief before removing himself from the other man and made his way to the enchanted box and glared down at it. _'I'm going to pick you up now,' _Harry warned. _"We're going to the healers and they'll examine what you did.'_

The wooden snake carving hissed in dismay. _'We only did what we were meant to do. Protect master.'_

Harry's lip curled as he gazed at the box before giving a deep sigh. Bending down, and hesitating for the briefest moment, Harry grabbed the enchanted box and grasped Dung tightly. He could vaguely hear his aunt screaming downstairs, but the moment Harry all but shouted "Burning coals!" the world dissolved around him as he felt a jerk from his naval. The world spun fiercely and Dung made a sound like he was about to vomit.

The two slammed to the ground hard enough to bruise and if Harry wasn't dizzy from the trip he certainly was now from the impact. "Help!" Harry barked, rolling away from Dung in a haze. His stomach churned and he wondered if he would be the one to throw up, but people in white cloaks began to surround them and Harry had to push his discomfort aside.

Harry looked up at a white ceiling and blinked before he felt someone haul him to his feet, arms barely remaining wrapped around the enchanted box. "He got cursed," Harry gasped out, looking behind him to the man holding him up. He had bright turquoise hair that would have surprised Harry if he wasn't so wrapped up in thinking about Dung and chocolate brown eyes. His pale hand steered Harry to a chair and sat him down.

Blinking a few times and taking a deep breath, Harry finally looked around. The portkey seemed to have taken them to the front desk of a wizard hospital. A few people passed, and the moment he laid eyes on the little girl screaming bloody murder as a gold cuff with large sapphires burned away her whole arm, he knew he was not in St. Mungo's.

"What happened?" the healer demanded, eyes staring into Harry's. "What has that fool messed with?"

A bit taken aback, Harry quickly showed the item he was holding. "Wait," Harry said quickly as the man attempted to take it from him. "It attacks people who aren't me," he said quickly, and it was sort of true.

The turquoise haired man grimaced. "Alright then. Come with me while we do diagnostics. It's probably just a blood curse." He rolled his eyes as if it were a common occurrence for people to get cursed to the brink of death by simple items. Although, after following the healer and taking in the people that were either eating their own vomit, clawing their own eyes out or even trying to rape any person that came close to them, it probably was a common occurrence.

"Relation to the patient?" the healer asked, wand out in front of him and making jabbing motions at a bit of parchment that glowed with gold letters.

"Er, friend," Harry answered, stepping out of the way of a screaming man that appeared to obtained bug eyes and was currently bleeding out of them.

"Patients name?" Harry faltered for a moment, not entirely sure if he should give away Dung's name. "We do not disclose any patient information," the healer said in a bored tone, probably used to people's hesitation. He turned to stare at Harry, eyes slowly raising to Harry scar and raised an eyebrow. "Or anyone else's for that matter."

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and patted his hair down. "Mundungus Fletcher," he finally answered as they turned into the room Dung had been taken to. Two healers were already over him, wands glowing purple as they ran a diagnostic test.

"Oi, its Fletcher again," the healer informed his fellows with a sigh.

"Yea, we figured," the only female healer in the room answered, brushing a lock of gold hair away from her eyes. "Seen this bugger long enough. What number is this? The sixty-fifth?"

"And here I thought we were in the eighties," the other, a man with a few wrinkles and graying hair, said with a laugh. "What is it, Nalen?"

"Might be family curse," the turquoise haired man by Harry's side said. He turned to Harry. "When he touched the object did it give off any glows? Shoot out any creature?"

"The snakes carved into it glowed blue. A bright blue like neon," Harry said, pointing to the snakes for the healers to see. They gave a hiss of distress and they backed off.

"Alright, neon colors usually tend to be curses. Did it sparkle or change color? Physically bite him or come to life?"

"No," Harry answered. "He couldn't let go of it at first."

"At first?" Nalen pressed, adding more notes to his parchment with his wand.

"He let go after a few minutes," Harry lied. "After the warts burst the glowing stopped."

The older man gave a sigh. "Look, kid," he said with clear exasperation. "I can see that this is your first time at our lovely little medical facility, but I don't have time to deal with lies. We aren't Mungo's where we'll turn you in or some bullshit. We are made _specifically _for people who have dealt with dark magic, now tell me the truth or I'll stick you in a room with the little boy we have with us that is currently spraying acid at every living being."

Harry stared, eyes wide and fingers clenching in shock. "I, uh, ordered it to let go," he finally managed weakly.

The man stared hard for a moment before finally grinning. "There! Now that wasn't so hard now was it?" Harry felt his lip curl in irritation. "Now boy, what happened?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I opened it," he gestured to the box in his hands "and Dung grabbed it out of my hands. The moment he touched it he fell to the ground shaking and screaming. Those wart things came soon after. I ordered it to stop and it did."

Nalen peered at the box in Harry's hands. "Sentient," he remarked to the others.

"Carvings and sculptures tend to have some awareness for security purposes," the female healer commented, wand going from purple to orange. Her blue eyes rested on Dung's face, taking in the bumps and ooze. "Alright, got it," she said, wand now glowing white. "It's just a disease curse. If he had held on any longer he would have only a few days to live," she continued in a curious manner. "He's got about a week if we leave him right now."

"Still, let's check the item first," Nalen said with a lazy drawl. He turned back to Harry. "Go ahead and just place it on the counter." Once Harry had put it down the man aimed his wand high and moved it clockwise. "Consecro Sacro," he intoned. Gray light erupted from his wand and encircled the enchanted box. Immediately neon blue, orange, pink and purple light shot up like fireworks and burst into more bits of light before fading away. He gave a whistle. "Hoo boy! This puppy is just full of disease curses – oh! Even one animation hex for dead skin cells! Some family heirloom, kid!" He laughed loudly. "Not quite good enough for the wall, though," he told the others.

The girl grinned. "Still trying to beat Halenn's cursed bracelet that created a black hole inside its victim?"

Harry just watched the healers with a sort of morbid fascination. This place was nothing like he'd ever seen. Even the people of Knocturn Alley had nothing on the minds of these people. "So… is he going to be alright?" Harry finally interrupted.

"He'll be fine," Nalen said, waving a hand in disinterest. "We'll take a few skin and puss samples, create a potion and he'll be fine to leave in three days. For now we'll be stabilizing him." Nalen nodded to his coworkers as they managed to slow the oozing puss and began applying a paste to his whole body.

"They're just everywhere," the older healer mumbled in pity once they removed Dung's clothing. They were quite literally _everywhere. _

"Will you be staying with Mr. Fletcher or would you like to use the floo?" Nalen offered.

Harry looked down at Dung, thoughts racing as he considered his options and what he would have to face once he returned. "I'll wait," Harry said, sitting down on the uncomfortable chair against the wall.

Nalen nodded. "Alright. If you have any questions your know where the front desk is but if an emergency happens please alert us." He gestured at a little statue of a parrot. "Just squeeze it and it will alert us. We'll return in a bit with the potion. He shouldn't wake up until then but since he wasn't in contact too much with the cursed item he might wake up in just a few hours. If he's in too much pain you're welcome to stun him yourself or just call one of us in."

"Alright," Harry said, eyebrows raised at the 'stun him yourself' thing. With a nod of respect, the two other healers left, leaving just Harry and Nalen.

The turquoise haired man walked up to Harry and gestured for Harry to stand. Wary, Harry did so before glaring outright as Nalen all but put his face close to his. "Hmm, multiple lacerations, each less than an inch long, appear to cover most of the outside of the body..." Nalen grabbed Harry's wrist and brought it to eyelevel. "Oh, enough of that," he admonished at Harry's angry growl. "I work with kids, so don't think a little hissy fit will scare me." He also ignored Harry's murderous glare. "Do you have any cuts inside your mouth?"

Harry studied the healer before him, taking in everything he could. "No," he bit out, wrenching his hand out of Nalen's grip.

"You got off lucky then," Nalen murmured before fishing out a tiny vial filled with a pink potion. "It will heal cuts, infections and cut down any small leveled spell that would block healing.

Hesitantly, and feeling slightly annoyed that he had forgotten about the numerous amount of cuts covering nearly every inch of his body, Harry took the potion. "Thanks."

Nalen grinned. "Hey, part of my job." He made for the door and turned just before shutting it. "Welcome to Starrygriffin, the hospital for the illegals, Mr. Potter." With a cheeky grin and a little wave, Nalen left.

Harry watched him go, body slumping in the chair and eyes becoming half lidded as he stared at Dung for a moment before turning his gaze on the box. His thoughts went back to that moment when Dung took the stupid object without thinking. The fool had paid for it, and Harry was honestly surprised and horrified to see something like this happen to a friend. He had been so desperate to learn about the dark arts in that one moment and Dung had willingly agreed to help Harry even if for a price.

He had rushed into things blindly, and even though Harry knew it wasn't his fault, this was still a lesson.

'_Damn it,' _Harry hissed, sneering bitterly as he wished to be the one to bring this sort of chaos upon his enemies.

(XoX)

It took the whole day for Dung to finally awake with long, pain filled groan. He attempted to stretch, moaned in pain, and gave up before turning about to figure out where he was. "Bugger me," he moaned weakly, voice having a slight gurgle to it, almost as if he had water caught in his throat.

Harry, whom had been conversing with the enchanted snake box, stopped and gave him a grim smile that held no warmth. "First rule, huh?" he taunted. He felt like he had the right to chastise this man who, was not only a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but was a dark arts dealer and an adult to boot. Honestly, he should have known better. "It's late," Harry said softly, watching the look of panic shoot across Dung's wrinkly and oily face.

Shock spread through Dung's limbs as he turned his attention toward the window. The sun had already set and the stars were clear. " 'Ow long was I asleep?" he groused.

"The whole day," Harry replied flippantly, fingers caressing the wooden snakes. They made crooning sounds, obviously pleased with the attention. "I'm afraid I threw a lot of your belongings out of your coat in search of the hospitals portkey. If no one has moved them I'm sure they are still on my bed, though with the Dursley's greed I have no doubt some were taken." Harry paused, seemingly in thought. "Although, gathering how late it is there is a large chance that another Order member came snooping about, wondering where we are."

Dung's eyes widened, mouth gapping as he stared at Harry. The boy had a smooth smile on his face, looking entirely too content with the situation. Slowly, purposefully, Dung rose into a sitting position and took a deep breath. This was serious. " 'arry," he said meaningfully, "oh god, boy." He took another deep breath. "We've bodged things up thing real bad. Bugger, bugger," he hissed. He would be in so much trouble with Order. What would they do to him, keep him on lockdown? Kick him out?

"You need to calm down," he heard Harry say. "Despite what you, Dumbledore and his little band of merry crew, Harry Potter is and always has been just a student. Dumbledore, his Headmaster, and the Order, were unhired watchers." Dung's eyebrows puckered up, wondering if he was still out of it. Had the boy just referred to himself in third person? Harry moved closer to him, and the shady man was sure it wasn't just his imagination that the room got colder. "Therefore Harry Potter has the right to leave his property whenever he wants to without repercussions." Dung watched the dark haired boy tilt his head to the side, looking down at him, eyes shining.

"Can you imagine how people would react if the great Albus Dumbledore wasn't just keeping the worlds golden poster child locked up in a house full of bigoted muggles, but his own man was teaching the boy the dark arts?" Harry smiled, teeth seeming sharper than usual.

Dung blubbered, completely blown away. " 'arry, what the hell are you saying? I-I thought you wanted this."

Harry chuckled. It was an eerie sound that made Dung's hair stand on end. "Oh, Harry Potter wanted to learn the dark arts alright." It was said fondly. The boy even had a soft look, but that shifted so quickly Dung wasn't sure if he had imagined it.

" 'ary, what… what's going? What's wrong?" he demanded, looking Harry over. There something terribly wrong with this situation.

"Call me Tom, Mundungus," Harry ordered, voice sharp.

Dung jumped, feeling cold sweat run down his body. He rubbed at the goosebumps on his arms, severely uncomfortable. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Tom," he said hollowly, not looking at the young man he had become fond of.

"Look at me." Again that voice broached no argument.

The shivers were in full force as Dung slowly raised his head. The moment he laid eyes on those green one's Harry's hand shot out like a viper, gripping his neck in a possessive hold that would make a boa constrictor proud. Dung's fingers clawed at the hand around," his neck. It had no effect other than to draw blood, and from the way the dark grin spread even wider Harry was enjoying it. He closed his eyes and kept them shut, just listening to the disgusting man's choked calls for help before he once more opened his eyes, purposefully slow.

Dung let out a loud squeak, eyes wide with fright and tongue hanging out loosely as he began to loose consciousness. It was only when his vision began to grow dark did the unrelenting grip loosen enough for him to take greedy gulps of air.

"Now you listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a wizard," Harry sneered, red eyes narrowed in obvious glee at his fear. "If you ever endanger my personal possession with your idiocy or attempt to teach him the dark arts in any way I will have you brought to my chambers where I will allow my Death Eaters to play with you. You will feel nothing but pure agony for days, never once getting a moment of peace. When one tires I will have a new Death Eater take his or her place, and I can assure you each and everyone of my servants has their own creative and unique ways to cause pain in ways you have never even imagined."

Dung could feel tears flowing freely, mixing with the blood on Harry's hand as it continued to hold him down. He sniffled in fear, doing nothing but listen to the possessed boy.

"And do not think for a moment I will release you from your pain. Oh no, death will not come to you, nor will it come to those who feel they can do what they want with my possession." Those red eyes glared down at him, and Dung could imagine that they weren't looking at him but his very soul. "Harry Potter is _mine_," he hissed. "Do you understand, you revolting man?"

Again Dung could only gap, but when those eyes narrowed dangerously he nodded quickly. "I-I-I get it!" he shrieked.

Impossibly, those eyes softened to a concerned gaze and the possessed boy patted his still wart covered face. "I'm glad you understand," he said mockingly. "Now do get yourself healed, my pet has a nasty habit of getting himself into trouble without adult supervision, even if they are useless beings."

Dung had felt like his insides were being ripped out just by listening to the crazed individual, and when he dropped to the floor in an unconscious slump on the floor, no longer possessed, Dung felt himself get a little warm, only to realize he had wet himself. Trying to keep the tears and jitters at bay, Dung carefully removed himself from the bed and lifted Harry up and place him on a chair.

The hassled man worked quickly. He magicked the stink and wetness away and dressed rapidly, uncaring on the pain his body was in. He needed to get away, get away from it all for a while, but first he still had to get Harry home. He was scared shitless, and he didn't want to be anywhere near the boy no matter how guilty he felt, but his life was at stake here.

Shifting through the various pockets of his coat, Dung brought out a silver flask with a leather grip. Carefully, he tilted Harry's head back and let the liquid soak his mouth until it ran down it chest. When Harry completely smelled like he had been at the biggest party of his life, Dung stopped, magicked some of him dry, though not very much for effect, and carefully raised the boy onto his shoulders.

He took a deep breath, face still wet with tears. "Sorry, 'arry," he whispered, not even bothering to grab the cursed item that had put them in this mess, and apparated back to the Dursley's.

It was near complete chaos, much to Dung's shock. He had expected a full blown panic with them both being gone. But no, the elder Dursley's were out on the porch, screaming at an angry Remus Lupin. The poor werewolf looked ready to give in to his inner beast and rip them apart.

"I told you we don't know where the freak went!" Petunia Dursley screeched. If there hadn't been any spells in place there would be quite a crowd. "We left him alone when one of you began screaming bloody murder!"

Dung sighed, eyes still leaking. He looked around. Not one Order member had turned around. There were seven, including Remus, and it appeared that they casting spells over the premises to see if any dark magic had been performed. He recognized a few of them but wasn't personally close with them Well, might as well alert them.

"Oi!" he yelled, voice thankfully sounding slurred. It would add to his story.

As one the entire crowd turned. This time chaos erupted as they demanded to know where they had been and why the hell Harry was hanging off his shoulder like a dead man.

"Harry!" Remus screamed, all but snatching the boy from Dung's arms. He growled at the man, eyes flashing yellow. "What happen?" he demanded, nostrils flaring and only then catching the fowl smell of firewhiskey. "Has…" He stumbled with his words. "Has Harry been _drinking_?" His voice was incredulous, almost as if he couldn't remember being a stressed teen.

"Yea, about dat…"

(XoX)

AN: Alright, first off – I'm really sorry about how long it has taken to update this. My mind has not been focusing on fanfiction for a while and I just moved. Hopefully I'll get the next update out sooner.

Second – Sorry if it seems like Harry's personality is all over the place. I'm trying to make this a slow transaction between Harry being Harry, to insanity, rebuilding and then Tom. I had really wanted to rush this but I think I'm enjoying this a bit too much to make this too short chapter.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
